


Payment for the Past

by Sealgirl



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Gen, post movies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-12-02 11:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11508174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealgirl/pseuds/Sealgirl
Summary: "They have history". But can Arthur and his knights learn from the past before his enemies destroy their future?





	1. Three Little Words

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Realmlife and Fayzalmoonbeam for the beat-reading, the help and the support in getting this project off the ground. I owe you even more fish than usual -x-

 

It was late evening, and the last rays from the sun lit the room from the open windows. The two men had eaten in silence. The Duke of Cornwall sat on his small, wooden throne, looking across the table to his guest. The man in question had eaten his way through the best meats and roasts the household could provide. Now Edward of Mercia had finished the food, it was time to discuss more important matters.

The servants removed the plates and refilled the goblets with mead, leaving the half full bottle beside Mercia. Then the two men faced each other, still silent.

As Edward took a long swig of his drink, Cornwall leaned forward.

‘The meal was to your liking?’ Edward nodded, finishing the wine then thumping the goblet down on the table with a clang. ‘And the mead as well.’

‘Where was it from?’

‘Bragawd. From a Welsh tribute,’ replied Gorlois. ‘A special favour.’

‘A tribute?’

Gorlois nodded with a slightly smug smile, but said nothing.

‘You’ve shown me great favour, though my lands are gone and the Earldom has been forfeit. There is no need now for reserve between us.’ This time it was Edward who leaned forward. ‘I want to know why.’

The Duke of Cornwall clasped his hands in front of him and frowned, as if thinking.

‘I need your help. In fact, you are the only one who can offer me this service.’ Edward’s expression showed his disbelief. ‘I wish to be King.’

Edward laughed and it boomed round the hall. He reached for the mead once more.

‘Your aim is high, Cornwall,’ he said still chuckling. ‘Too high. No one can get close enough to get rid of the current one. Not with his guards, and his knights.’ There was a special venom in Edward’s voice at the word _knight_.

‘My aim is high, but true,’ said Gorlois.

‘Would you trick me into treason? To plot to kill a King is treason.’

Gorlois conceded the remark with a slight nod.

‘But it is only treason if I fail. I have the only valid claim.’

‘Once Arthur is dead,’ pointed out Edward. He helped himself to another generous measure of mead and once again drank it down.

‘Once Arthur Pendragon is dead.’

‘I do not like the thought of treason,’ Edward muttered.

‘Do you like the thought of revenge?’ asked Gorlois.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Consider what I have to offer you,’ said the Duke. ‘Consider what might be gained from another change in monarch.’

‘What do you mean?’ insisted Edward.

‘The problem is, my friend, that Arthur is too well protected at Camelot. He had the power of the castle, and the loyalty of his knights. Most of his knights, at least.’

‘Most?’

Gorlois smiled and continued.

‘No betrayer in their right mind would strike in Camelot. So Arthur must leave its protection. I had hoped to tempt him out with the Mage from Avalon, but she is too far from my lands. So it must be one of his knights.’

Edward looked up, hopeful and suddenly filled with understanding.

‘But you must not kill him,’ said Gorlois.

‘He murdered my brother in cold blood,’ growled Edward. ‘I have the right.’

‘Peace, my friend, peace,’ said Cornwall softly, holding up his hand. ‘No one can deny that you have the right of vengeance.’

‘I’d like to see him hang.’

‘And there nothing that would dissuade you of this?’

‘Nothing.’

Gorlois shrugged, seeming resigned to this answer.

He stood and walked to the window, motioning Edward to accompany him. In the courtyard below the window were three carts, with heavy bound boxes and chests. There was a noise from the doorway and a similar chest was brought into the room by four guards. It was set on the floor by the table and Gorlois moved back to open it. Gold. It gleamed in the evening light, spreading a warm glow through the room.

‘I may not be rich by the standards of the King,’ said the Duke. ‘But I have wealth enough for my purpose.’

‘What is this,’ murmured Edward. He came forward, reaching out to touch the gold in the chest, picking up a handful of coins and weighing them in his hand. The Duke made no move to stop him.

‘Half my treasury will be yours,’ said Gorlois. ‘The wagons are prepared and under guard and will arrive at your castle in days.’

‘For his death?’ asked Edward, confused.

‘For his life. The knight must live.’

Edward looked at the chests of gold and treasure, shaking his head.

‘I…’

‘Be assured, Mercia, he will live long enough to serve his purpose, and then be left where no one can find him.’

‘Then he _will_ be dead.’

Gorlois nodded.

‘And his death will be slow. Painful. Lonely.’

Edward looked from the Duke back to the pile of gleaming gold in his hand.

‘Why would Arthur care for a single knight?’

‘The King is like Uther,’ Gorlois replied sadly. ‘He is an honourable man. The men of the resistance and the old knights of the previous court sacrificed a great deal to get him to the throne. He is in their debt. Besides, you know what he did to Greybeard, over a mere whore with a few bruises? Think how angry he would be if someone kidnapped one of his friends.’

‘That’s true,’ admitted Edward. ‘But there is no way to predict what he will do. You assume so much. From all accounts he is an arrogant and impetuous man. He will not follow blindly after his friend. I would not. Why would Arthur?’

Again, the Duke nodded.

‘You are correct, of course, Mercia, but I do not leave it all to fate. There will be one on hand to guide the king to folly.’ There was a long pause while Edward of Mercia gazed at the coins. ‘Do I have your agreement, Mercia?’

Edward still hesitated.

‘This is still treason.’

‘This is still vengeance.’

The Duke moved back round the table to sip his drink. For another minute, neither spoke.

‘If I were to agree,’ said Edward warily. ‘What would be my part? I want to see that man before he dies, bait for a King or not.’

‘You shall, Mercia. You have my word. My men in Camelot will bring him to you. You may speak with him, and see that he understands his destiny, so he knows of your involvement. The men I provide will see to the rest.’

‘I don’t see why I can’t...’

‘No,’ said Gorlois firmly. ‘Arthur must believe the man can be saved. Only then will he risk himself in the pursuit. Trust me. I assure you the knight’s just end will be _most_ fitting.’

Edward looked back to the gold. Neither of them spoke for a long minutes.

‘I agree,’ said Edward suddenly.

A wide smile spread across the Duke’s face.

‘Then let us toast this alliance, and I shall tell you of my plan.’

Together they raised their drinks to the success of their enterprise. Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, erstwhile plotter of regicide, look a long drink from his goblet, draining it completely.

All this trouble over Edward. Still the man would no doubt fulfil his part, the look on his face when the gold had been presented was enough to convince Gorlois he had not misjudged his target. Then later, Mercia would be dead and he, Gorlois, would no longer control just Cornwall, but would be king, and  _without_ such a troublesome ally to deal with.

The end couldn’t come fast enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur was sleeping, lingering in that comfortable state between waking and dreaming, content to let his mind wander. Since confronting his Uncle and acknowledging his birthright, Arthur slept better. The nightmares were lost to the past, and though he still dreamt of his parents, the anguish and confusion that had accompanied those memories were now tempered with love.

The peace he felt was almost a physical presence, although he hadn't realised it at first. Perhaps it was the Sword's doing. Excalibur always rested nearby, its power shifting beneath the surface. He could sense its presence even from across the room, and it was a comfort. The power it held was beyond what he could understand and he had slowly learnt that the knowledge of that power would be forever just out of his reach. He knew nothing of magic, and Excalibur would always be a mystery. But Excalibur was  _his_ , and while the Sword was in his care, everything would be alright.

In the silence of the night it felt good to let his mind relax and, inevitably, it was drawn to the enigmatic lady that haunted his waking hours. She was still more of a mystery than the Sword was.

The Mage wasn't in Camelot. She had gone, maybe back to Merlin and his clan, or maybe just away from the castle, with the bustle of a royal court and all the people who used to stare. He lay there dreaming of her, how she had helped him, how she had guided him to claim his Father’s legacy and embrace the power of the Sword. She had gripped his arm, she had looked into his eyes. She was doing that in his dream.

_'There is always more to understand,' she murmurs. 'You will still need to see everything, to know the Truth if you are to help them and if you are to rule this land as King. You have the Sword but you must fight to unite the Land and her peoples. You must find the Truth to defeat your enemies.'_

_In his dream, Arthur frowns. This isn't what he wanted to dream of. She looks so stern now, so sure of purpose. Her eyes turn to gold, with black pupils like the giant snake's. He gazes intently into her eyes. She is beautiful. She is so beautiful. Until a snarl crosses her face and her eyes blaze with dark red fire. He wants to pull away, but he can't. The burning grows brighter..._

He jerked awake, unsettled by the expression on her face as much as the fire in her eyes. As he lay there, his heart thumping, he could hear footsteps as they passed his door and faded into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Having exhausted himself to the point of not being able to stand up, Sir William Wilson finally made his slow way back to his chambers high in the castle. His nightly walk was getting longer, and he was aware that soon he would need to find some other way of getting himself to sleep. Pacing the halls was not a practical idea, and eventually he was going to meet someone and have to explain why he was unable to rest.

Uther was avenged. Igraine was avenged. Vortigern was defeated. The danger had passed, and all he and Sir Bedivere had worked for was complete, he should be able to sleep better, not worse. He should be able to let the past go and let the dead rest in peace.

Outside the door of his chambers he stopped for a moment. Perhaps he should speak to his King. Or maybe even speak to the boy himself as the tension between him and Blue had grown more obvious each day. He shook his head. No, he had no right to do that, and his problems with Blue were only part of the whole picture. But speaking to Arthur was perhaps the appropriate course. With each passing day the conversation was more difficult to start. Arthur was still adjusting to the life of a ruler. Finding an opportunity to speak with Arthur would be hard.

Bill’s chambers were sparsely decorated, not so rich as others he had seen, but comfortable enough, better than most places he’d spent the night in the past twenty or so years. Furs covered most of the stone flags of the floor and in the fireplace were the red embers of the fire he'd left flaming there a few hours earlier. It was at least warm and dry.

On the table by the fire was some food, some berries and a little bread and cheese. The girls who cooked left things like that occasionally. The berries looked tempting, red and delicious and he helped himself to a few and some of the bread as well, more just because they were there than because he was hungry.

Tomorrow he would go and see Old John from the east coast, after the usual practice with his bow. John would have the latest news, and after that meeting, he would be able to decide on his next move.

Slowly, he changed his clothes and lay back on his bed, grateful for the comfort and feeling sleep finally creeping up on him. Hopefully it would be a deep sleep with no dreams. Arthur wasn't the only one who had dark memories that only surfaced at night. Sometimes, Bill would wake, the sound of singing in his mind and the air heavy with the smell of burning wood and blood.

Revenge hadn't eased the sense of loss. He had a grim satisfaction that Mercia was dead, but that action had failed to lift his own feeling of responsibility. And the consequences of the fatal shot were still being felt by others. Even so, he found it difficult to regret killing the Earl of Mercia. It had been the only chance he was going to get. He might be able to get himself out of prisons and tight places, but getting himself close enough to rid the Kingdom of the Earl of Mercia had previously proved impossible.

Each shot he'd fired over the years since the fall of Uther, it was Mercia's face he'd seen at the centre of the target.

_They have history_ , Sir Bedivere had told Arthur.  _Well, that was a fucking understatement_ . 

Part of him wished that Mercia had been brought before the Throne, with Arthur sitting smugly in the centre of it. He wished there had been a chance to list all of the crimes and injustices Mercia had wrought on the people in the name of King Vortigern. His arrow stopped that. Dealing with the aftermath would be more problematic.

He had checked the lists again that morning. Edward's name wasn't among those on the role of nobles and so, to all intents and purposes, Mercia's brother had disappeared. That couldn't be good for anyone here at Camelot, least of all himself. Edward of Mercia, although not now entitled to the Earldom, could still throw significant weight behind trouble. It wasn't could; he  _would_ throw all his efforts behind disrupting Camelot. In his heart, Bill knew it. 

There was a feeling of responsibility for this that he couldn't shake. If the Earl of Mercia was still alive, tried by a court and properly sentenced for his crimes, there would be no need for Edward to act against Camelot.

He'd not spoken of it to any other the other knights, although Bedivere should have figured it out as well. There could never be true peace with the second Mercia waiting in the shadows to take swift revenge for the cold-blooded murder of his brother.

He hadn't considered any of that when he shot the arrow through the Earl's chest. He hadn't considered what else could happen afterwards; Backlack's death and Blue's reaction, Rubio's treachery and the slaughter at their hide out. Was it all somehow down to that one shot? Maybe if he had managed some restraint there wouldn't have been so much death. Or maybe there would be no new King in Camelot.

That didn't matter now. He couldn't change it.

_They have history._ Now they had a whole lot more.

And with that disquieting thought, Bill fell into a deep but troubled sleep.

 

 


	2. A Day in the Life

 

The dream lingered in Arthur's mind that day, and made him uneasy for the first time since the coronation. Much to his surprise, the coming of the “Born-King” had stopped the riots and looting. The people, though still poor and suffering, had rejoiced with their new leader. From the castle at Camelot peace radiated out across the countryside, through Londinium and through the towns and villages that had groaned under the weight of oppression and violence.

England was recovering, but there was less peace in Camelot herself. Ghosts walked the halls, and left a sense of regret and loss that came with tragedy. Nevertheless, the King’s guard was growing, as the construction of the Round Table neared completion, knights came to the castle from far and wide to kneel before their King and give him their pledge. A few new men showed up each day, eager to serve. The flow of new faces, the lingering images of the past all made it more difficult to settle into his new life as a monarch in a place he barely knew.

It had been his intention to take care of a little business, to “check on the state of the Kingdom”; check on the coffers, speak to the guards and any visitors, listen to the knights talk and discover the news from the Capital.

He missed Londinium, the stink of the River, the feel of the streets and the ease with which he persuaded other people to do what he wanted, usually part with money. It was different here at Camelot. On the outside the Royal Court was the same as the brothel, him at the top and everyone else doing what he said. But there was something about the Court that he didn’t understand, the way rumour and gossip flowed in a different way, with an undercurrent of deception.

In spite of that, there were still some tried and tested ways of keeping an eye on what was going on.

That morning, as he did each day, Arthur went straight to the vaults below the main hall, Excalibur strapped to his belt, as always. He was sometimes tempted to take all the coins from their boxes and count every last penny, but he didn’t have the time. He had made a tidy amount at the brothel, he had worked hard to get coin for himself and the girls, but that was nothing compared to the staggering fortune that lay sleeping under Camelot. Vortigern, in his tireless efforts to construct his Mage tower, had kept a constant flow of money into the castle, draining the currency from everyone in the land to keep his pet project on track.

The Treasury was always his first stop. Not because he liked the look of the bound chests and shimmering gold. Not _just_ because of that. Usually, the guards that were on duty there had just come from the barracks. And the barracks were where most of the news was traded.

He recognised the two guards by the door.

‘Morning, lads,’ he said. The men both bowed and greeted him in return. They passed pleasantries for a few minutes then, the conversation going nowhere. This should have been the point where they talked and he found out who was where and what was going on. Today the two guards were noticeably less inclined to join in. Instead, he had to ask.

‘So what’s got into you lot this morning? No news?’

They looked at each other, but didn’t reply.

‘I might be the King, but I’m still a man you can talk to. My jokes not good enough today?’

One of them smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. It must have been something serious. If it was serious, then he needed to know about it.

‘I might be the King,’ said Arthur, lowering his voice, ‘but I also know how to keep a secret. What’s going on?’

In the pause that followed Arthur just kept smiling, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his Sword. At last, it worked.

‘Some of the Knights think us guards are being a bit, um, well, um, disrespectful. My Lord.’

‘Really?’ Both guards nodded. ‘Disrespectful eh?’ He held up his hand. ‘It’s alright, lads, I’m not going to ask who. I don’t need to.’ Only one of his knights was prissy and old-fashioned enough to start on about that. ‘I’ll have a word with Sir Ector and get him off your back.’

The way the two looked at him was a surprise. Not Ector then? No one else was that bothered. He wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games, so he looked at the man who’d spoken straight in the eye. After a moment the guard muttered a name.

‘Didn’t quite hear that,’ said Arthur.

‘Sir William.’

That wasn’t right. The thought of Goosefat stopping gossip was incomprehensible. The man was a _spy_ , no one knew the value of information better than Bill, free talk amongst the guards was important currency in the Court.

‘And just what did Sir William say?’ The two guards were looking very uncomfortable now. ‘Better out than in, lads,’ Arthur said jovially,though his hand tightened on the Sword. ‘You’ll feel better for the telling.’

‘Other guards in the barrack, my lord,’ said talkative guard, ignoring the looks his companion gave him. ‘Sir William’s been on at him for talking back, not being respectful. So he said.’

‘So he _said_?’

The guards both nodded.

Arthur let out a sigh, and smiled again.

‘Relax boys, I won’t be telling Sir William about our little chats. Not if you don’t.’

The small nods in reply was good enough, so Arthur ambled off towards the higher halls, outwardly projecting his usual calm air of a King, but inside he was feeling confused. The dream the night before, now Goosefat using a heavy hand with the guards. Arthur knew, as everyone else did, that their premiere spy was uneasy in the confines of the castle. Was it surprising? The man had spent the past twenty five years lurking in halls and doorways. It must be a hard habit to give up. Was that a good excuse for pissing on everyone else’s day? Probably not.

With no new information from the guards, Wet Stick was the obvious next choice to speak to. Brought up with Arthur on the streets of Londinium, he knew how the game was played. Although now a knight in his own right, he rarely responded to Sir Tristan. Being in the castle hadn’t dimmed his ability to ferret out good gossip, or to know what tit-bits to pass on.

He found his friend in the practice grounds, an area below the castle’s inner wall that was in the process of being rebuilt. It was a wide and green, with tradesmen working hard to complete the changes. Noise and dust were less than they had been, but it still felt like it was going to be like this for an eternity. The repaired barracks were in the shadow of the half finished mage tower and they looked out over the grounds. A new herd of horses were stabled near to the river (a present from one of the Barons, Arthur usually pretended to forget which one). Every day, the new recruits would practice with both sword and bow on the flat plain between the barracks and the stables. Soon, the final building at the opposite end from the castle would be complete and the recruits would move in there. Sir George was over by the half-finished building, always close his new home and suggesting improvements. The sword-master now had the pleasure of a hundred more men to teach, each eager to learn the same skill in battle as Arthur, and find the confidence that comes from knowing how to handle yourself against your enemies.

Arthur visited every day, and had seen the steady change in his troops, not so much ready for war, but ready for anything.

‘Art!’ Wet Stick greeted him with a wave as soon as the King came down the steps to the grounds. He turned away from the other men he was with and came over. Far on the other side of the grounds, Sir Bedivere was prowling around, and he also raised his hand in greeting.

‘What’s new, Wet Stick?’

They chatted about the usual things for a while, swords, wine, money, until Bedivere wandered over with the look of a man wanting to talk. Arthur knew fine well what Bedivere wanted. He wanted to talk about Vikings, and what they was going to do when (not “if” in Bedivere’s opinion), they decided not to be friends after all.

‘The Vikings, my lord,’ started Bedivere as soon as he was close enough to be heard. Arthur stopped him with a wave. ‘No Vikings today.’

‘We…’ said Bedivere, battling on regardless.

‘No. Vikings.’

‘No?’

‘No. There are other things to talk about beside the Vikings,’ Arthur said. He looked at Wet Stick. ‘Tell me about Goosefat.’

‘Tell you _what_ about Goosefat?’ was the very defensive reply. Had Bill been getting everyone’s back up today?

More surprisingly, the name had a magic effect on the nearby men, and within a few moments Wet Stick, Bedivere and the King had been joined by three more knights, all new to the round table: Sir Ector, Sir Urien and Sir Caradoc.

He’d not spoken to either Urien or Caradoc for long, not as much as some of the other new recruits, but Ector was a different matter altogether. As old as Bedivere, if not older, the Knight kept on getting in the way. He liked to go on, and on, and _on,_ about how it used to be done, and how that was better then everything else. Part of the reason Arthur hadn’t given him the shove was that he had known his father well for a time, and often told amusing anecdotes about what the young Uther Pendragon had done when he’d thought no one else was looking. Plus, like Goosefat, he was a skilled archer, and a good teacher for the young knights, even if he was a bit slower than everyone else.

The three of them stood there, curiosity mingled with animosity written all over their faces. Bill must have been busy if he’d managed to fuck up their day already. It was only just gone mid-morning.

Sir Ector greeted the King with a bow and a polite “Good morning, Sire” but the other two just bowed.

Wet Stick was looking more uncomfortable now he had a wider audience.

‘What have you heard, Wet Stick?’

‘I’ve not seen him since yesterday morning, Boss.’

That wasn’t what he asked. Wet Stick knew it too, but before Arthur could vocalise this, he was interrupted.

‘Most of the guards have been complaining about him, Sire,’ said Sir Ector. ‘One of them confided it to me earlier and he was most discouraged by Sir William’s attitude. I was going to mention it when I saw you at the Round Table, but now is just as good time as any.’

He had a whining voice that made Arthur want to punch him. He’d seen many men like Sir Ector. Great only in their own minds, they pissed around by the edge of power, trying to make other men see how important they were. But any time they got the chance to actually do something and be useful, they inevitably failed. Then again, old Ector did have one thing in his favour: Goosefat had vouched for him when he’d first been presented.

‘While Sir William is my friend,’ continued Ector. ‘Still, I feel I must protest his actions. It does nothing for morale in the castle for the ones to support its running to be demeaned in this manner. I would have expected more from Sir William. I really would have.’

He looked round to the two fellow knights for support. Urien just shrugged.

‘I only know him by reputation,’ Caradoc said. Was it Arthur’s imagination, or did the knight sound a little in awe of Goosefat? Maybe even a little scared of him?

‘I see,’ said Arthur. ‘Maybe I’ll have a quiet word with him.’

Sir Ector gave a stiff bow.

‘Sire,’

Arthur looked at Wet Stick.

‘That what you heard?’

‘Mostly. What else do you want to know?’ said Wet Stick.

‘What else do you want to tell me?’ Arthur smiled at the familiar game.

‘Where do you want to start?’

‘It’s that bad is it?’ asked Arthur. Wet Stick nodded. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s not been in the grounds, boss.’

‘Maybe he’s slept in,’ put in Sir Urien with an undisguised snigger.

That about summed Goosefat up at the moment. Doubtless Bill wanted to think otherwise, but everyone knew of his nocturnal strolls around the castle. For a spy he wasn't being very sneaky or subtle, and Goosefat was good at both sneaky and subtle. It was difficult to keep secrets in this place. Or at least it was when you spoke to guards, checked on locks and generally made yourself as conspicuous as Bill had been doing over the past month.

Mutterings in the doorways and whispers in the halls were one thing, but when the other knights themselves were talking about him behind his back, that was a sign of trouble. The kind of trouble that made Arthur feel uneasy again. Bedivere might have been the leader of the resistance, and Percy the strong right arm, but Goosefat was the left hand, working in the shadows and getting the information they needed to survive. He was the one in and out of the enemy camps, and in and out of prison. The night they first met when Goosefat had had the ill-advised idea to hide in the brothel, he’d sensed a man who didn’t take any action lightly.

 _Goosefat’s always like that_ , Bedivere had assured him. But wasn’t it getting a little close to paranoia? Did he know something the other knights didn’t?

The thought of being that out of touch made Arthur uncomfortable. He hated not knowing what was going on. And now more than ever he was sure that something _was_ going on.

‘And Blue was on about him again earlier,’ said Wet Stick with a sigh. ‘Complaining as usual.’

‘Of course. What was it this time?’

‘Dunno. I wasn’t listening.’

And then there was Blue. A thought struck Arthur. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Blue had started a rumour about Goosefat being unhappy with the guards. That would have made sense. Blue was smart about people, just like his dad had been. He knew undermining Goosefat’s reputation was a quick and effective way to piss him off. That was what the young boy lived for in the weeks after his Dad had died. The longer Arthur thought about it, the more sure he was that he was right and the rumour was Blue’s doing.

‘Seen him?’

Wet Stick shook his head. It was a good thing too. Causing trouble for Bill was one thing he could turn a blind eye to, but when it spilt over into causing trouble for the rest of the guards and knights, that was different.

Arthur paused, unsure of his next move. Did he really want to go searching the castle, _his_ castle, for either of them?

After a moment of indecision, Sir Bedivere stepped in, presumably as he was used to dealing with keeping order.

‘How about helping with the recruits today?’ Bedivere asked. ‘Let them see their King in action.’

A tempting idea. It would probably help his darkening mood as well. Wet Stick nodded encouragingly.

‘And I’ll take a look around for Goosefat,’ said Wet Stick. ‘And Blue as well, if you like.’

Arthur smiled. Hitting things and showing off always helped improve his day. Though he wore his Sword all the time, except when sleeping, he rarely drew it from the scabbard. The urge to feel the weight and the power of the Sword filled him for a moment. But it wasn’t just the Sword he longed for. The thrill of the fight was something he always looked forward to.

‘Yes,’ he said. He turned to Wet Stick. ‘Find them. I’ll be over with George.’

Wet Stick gave a short nod.

The group of other knights followed the King over the grounds towards where George was standing. With each step, Arthur felt his spirits rise. Perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late in the afternoon when they finished and Arthur was feeling more relaxed than earlier.

He had spent the previous hours not thinking about anything except his opponent and the opportunity to burn off some of the aggression that had been slowly building in the weeks after his coronation. The men were improving. He could feel the change from awe to confidence, not only in themselves, but in their King as well.

He was getting himself too caught up in the court life. Being outside with his friends and mentors was the best thing he could have done. Wet Stick had not joined them until the very end, when he had appeared looking anxious. Arthur refused to let his mood be dampened.

Blue had been spotted by guards on and off during the day. But for all the talking and questions and looking around Wet Stick had done, there was one person conspicuous by his absence from Camelot. Goosefat Bill was nowhere to be found.

Arthur had taken the news better than he’d expected. The work out and the camaraderie of the fight had given him better perspective. Goosefat Bill and his odd behaviour was only a small part of his problems. The Barons were due to arrive at Camelot for another interminable debate very soon. He had no reason to doubt that it would go the same way as usual. They debated, he ignored them, they went home. End of. But it still required a certain amount of preparation.

The smell of cooking meat wafted gently over the grounds, and everyone began to disperse. Chatting with Wet Stick, Arthur climbed the shallow steps to the door of the castle and went inside.

Camelot was usually respectfully quiet, so the sound of angry, raised voices echoed round the lower halls.

Arthur recognised the voices at once, and a cold feeling of fury closed round his heart. His calm mood now properly ruined, Arthur stormed off towards the sound of the argument, leaving a surprised Wet Stick in his wake. Beside the entrance to the kitchens, he rounded a corner and abruptly came to a halt. A gaggle of servants and guards hovered close to two figures.

He had finally found Goosefat Bill. He had caught up with Blue as well. The two of them stood there. Bill towered over Blue, covered in dust with a cut on his chin and barely controlled fury on his face. As Arthur stepped forward the pair suddenly fell silent.

'What the fuck is going on?' demanded Arthur.

'Nothin',' they said in unison, then glared at each other.

Arthur pulled Blue out of the way and rounded on Goosefat, furious at the public disagreement.

'Are we going to have a problem?'

Before Bill could reply, Wet Stick rounded the corner and Goosefat's expression changed to one of resignation. He swore, slamming his hand against a nearby table. Wet-stick looked between the two in confusion, then at Arthur. A few seconds later, other people began to gather, guards, knights and the servants, all coming along the hall to see what the commotion was all about, filling the room with babble.

'Let’s take this somewhere else, Art,’ said Wet Stick, grabbing Bill’s arm. The older knight yanked it back again.

‘I can walk!’ he snapped.

Arthur should have seen this coming. He did see it coming, but had decided that they could work it out between them. That was clearly wrong. The Mage had said to find the truth. These two had been circling each other for the past month, disagreements always simmering. The boy could be a proper pain in the arse when he put his mind to it. The snide comments from Blue was one thing, but Goosefat hadn’t exactly been the gracious gentleman.

Maybe they just needed to face up to the truth and have it out once and for all.

There was a simple, childish logic to Blue’s problem. Goosefat shot the Earl of Mercia, even though they sensed it was a trap and should have retreated in safety. In the escape, Blue’s father Back Lack was mortally injured. Blue blamed Bill for his death. That was the end of the story as far as Blue was concerned.

These were two of the most trusted people in his household. Blue was the son of his closest friend, fatherless now and needing a friend to help him in his grief. Goosefat, spy and general sneaky bastard, was the man who’d made him king, literally.

He realised the truth in the Mage’s words. They needed him to sort this out, to get to the truth and flush out the anger.

So that was what he was going to do, get this settled. Right now. Whether they wanted to or not.

 

* * *

 

 

Bill stalked along the hallway towards the chamber with the Round Table, Arthur dragged Blue by the collar and Wet Stick followed behind. There were mutterings from the men they passed and a few tagged on the end behind Wet Stick, judging by the noise they all made.

At the moment, Bill could hardly think straight for his anger.

It had not been his best day, even before meeting Blue. An unexpected feeling of nausea had woken him just before dawn. Unable to rest, he had left the castle grounds before most of the court had stirred and spent the morning shooting by the woods, in a lakeside glade past the edge of the crags and out of sight of the the castle. Somewhere he could feel sick without an audience, and somewhere to shoot in peace. He’d lost nearly a third of his arrows in the lake, and missed the target at least half the time, which did not endear him to the day. The last time he’d had a practice like that he’d just picked up his bow again after breaking his arm.

After a lot of swearing, and rescuing as many arrows as he could, Bill had gone east a few miles, to meet Old John for an exchange of information. The talk had been long and involved an exchange of significant quantities of both coin and ale, as was the way with Old John, and had been both very productive and very disturbing. The ale had done nothing to help him feel better. Returning to the castle in the late afternoon, he was mulling over the news when he’d had that run-in with Blue. The boy had been rude and argumentative and, when Bill tried to leave with his temper intact, Blue had deliberately tripped him. Slowed by the trials of the day, or maybe the ale and the continuous nausea, Bill had slipped and smacked his chin on a table. Blue had then howled with malicious laughter and what was left of Bill’s restraint snapped like an ancient bowstring.

That was the final straw. He had been going to give the boy a good clip round the ear, but instead, he was in front of a very pissed off King, the very last man he wanted to speak to.

He stood by the table as the others sat, and Blue retreated to one of the far corners, scowling at everyone else.

‘You know, you two are beginning to fuck me off,’ said Arthur conversationally. ‘So you’re not leaving here without getting this sorted.’

The man's voice was laden with threat, even though there was a relaxed smile on his face. Bill looked round at the others that had gathered in the hall. Each of them were looking at him expectantly. Bedivere had also managed to go beyond expectant into concern.

'You can start, Goosefat,' Arthur said. From the corner Blue started to disagree, but Arthur turned to him. 'Shut it.'

Arthur looked back to Bill, who crossed his arms. Just how was he going to explain to an angry king who looked like he would punch anyone who said the wrong thing? It was not a very kingly pose, but with blood on his chin and dust on his clothes, Bill didn’t feel like he could criticise. He wished the sick feeling would go away, and that he’d had less to drink that afternoon.

‘As I said, explanation. Now.’ Arthur could be fucking annoying about some things. Bloody “plans” and showing-off for one. And now, somehow, he was able to read minds, and he said the name.

'I’ll give you a place to begin then, shall I?' Arthur said. ‘Mercia.’

Bill waited, unsure. Did Arthur know what he had just discovered?

His talk with old John in the pub had revealed one vital, important and very unpleasant fact. Word was that Edward of Mercia had indeed put a price on his head, but it was a price so large everyone would be looking for him. It was still hard and brutal out in the wilds, a small fortune like that would be too much of a temptation for many. It was large enough even to tempt guards and knights alike when they found out. Worse, it would endanger the King and could turn people against his rule if manipulated the right way. He should say something, but that would sound like he was only wanting help, someone to look after him and shield him. Bringing this trouble to Camelot, so soon after the coronation and at the very start of the Arthur's reign, was wrong. He should deal with Edward himself.

No one spoke. Blue was mumbling something. Wet Stick sat nearest the boy and looked at him sadly.

‘Do we need the audience, boss?’ asked Wet Stick, nodding toward the other men. ‘If it’s about Back Lack, then…’

Arthur looked past him at the gathered knights and guards and glared at them.

‘I see,’ said Arthur. ‘Everyone else out, except you.’ He pointed at Bedivere. ‘And you.’ He pointed at Wet Stick. He turned to Bill and scowled. ‘And you’re staying too, honey tits.’

Bill scowled back. Another good, hard slap in the face, that was what Arthur was going to get, ring or no ring. Fortunately, Bedivere leaned forward and put a hand on his arm.

The Knights and guards shuffled out and Wet Stick closed the door firmly behind them. Blue hadn’t moved from his position curled up in the corner.

Again no one spoke.

‘Mercia,’ repeated Arthur.

It was twisting of the intent, but Bill nodded. It was _a_ Mercia, maybe not the one the King meant. However, this wasn’t about Edward, that was clear. It wasn’t the time to bring up what he’d heard. Inwardly, Bill gave a sigh of relief.

‘Mercia,’ Arthur said once more.

‘Stop saying that name,’ Bill snapped back. ‘I heard you the first time.’

As a man who lived by his instincts all the time, Bill knew this conversation wasn’t going to end in a good way. What a fucking mess. Still, the Earl was dead and that was all there was to it. He should tell them so.

'The Earl is dead and that's all there is to it,' he said. ‘What else do you want me to say?’

‘That wasn’t the plan,’ said Arthur. 'You killed him in cold blood.'

'Mercia? Cold blood? To fucking right. Your blood could never be too cold to kill that man.'

'You shot him. We were there for Vortigern.'

'From a hundred and seventy five yards,' muttered Goosefat with a mirthless smirk. From beside him, Bedivere shook his head and frowned at him with that annoyed look he got whenever someone was being unreasonable.

'That wasn't supposed to happen.' Arthur looked at him, and the smirk faded from Bill's lips. ‘That wasn’t why we were there.’

But the most fucking annoying thing about Arthur was that the man was right, damn him. They did deserve an explanation, and maybe that would even ease the tension between him and the boy. That didn’t mean he was going to give the King the satisfaction of telling him that.

'We have “a history”,' he replied. They all knew it had been a trap. Vortigern wasn't going to show but Mercia was there and suddenly that was all Bill could see. He should never have let his rage get the better of him. That wasn’t the smart thing to do. But how many times had he been presented with the perfect opportunity to exact the justice he so desperately wanted?

‘You were all there’ said Bill. ‘You know “what happened”. What is this? A trial by my fucking peers?'

‘Goosefat!’ interrupted Bedivere.

'Mercia killed people,’ said Bill, ignoring the other knight, his own anger taking over. ‘ _Our_ people. Friends. People with guts enough to act and people who just got in the way. People died every day.' Bill saw Bedivere give a slow nod. It hadn't been pleasant.

In the painful silence that followed, Bedivere rose from the table, looking at the fireplace, his back to the king for a moment. When he turned, his expression was sombre.

'Even from the start,’ Bedivere said, ‘Vortigern knew exactly who was on his side and who to make an example of. He had some of the nobles hung from their castle walls, took their lands and sold their sons to the Vikings. They razed villages to the ground.'

Arthur leaned forward, his expression close to sarcastic.

'I get it. Vortigern wasn't a nice man.'

Bill's glare turned into a snarl.

'Mercia did the leg work,' he growled. Angry that he had let Arthur goad him into losing his temper, he lapsed back into silence. After a while Bedivere spoke again.

'They were dark days, Arthur,' the older knight said. 'You didn't have to watch as Vortigern dismantled everything Uther valued and brought the country to its knees. While you and your friends were living in your own world in Londinium, some of us had more to fight for, and more to lose.'

‘He murdered my parents,’ said Arthur coldly.

'So you think you knew what he was like?’ Bill demanded, his voice rising in volume with every word. ‘The mages were slaughtered. Villages and towns were raised to the ground. Vortigern tightened his hold on the barons and nobles, and Blacklegs were everywhere, together they sucked the land dry. We were the ones who watched this country fall and there was nothing we could do to stop it. While you were tucked up snug in the brothel buying off Blacklegs and turning a tidy profit, they were killing your subjects.’ Arthur opened his mouth to speak but Bill was shouting now, beyond caring if he was being unreasonable. ‘Mercia helped him. He couldn't have done any of it without Mercia following along, cleaning up the shit that was left behind.'

 _An unknown young woman with a child in her arms, singing an unfamiliar song to calm the crying. They didn't deserve to die either._ The memory was so vivid it could have been just this morning he hid in that shed and caused so much death. Why was he thinking about that now?

'Goosefat?' Bedivere said. ‘Are you alright?’

Bill realised that he was shaking. His head felt odd, things were distorting, sounds too loud and light too bright, the nausea growing worse. He needed to get out of there, to get out into the air and away from the Castle that was so full of bad memories and the echo of bitter magic. He took an unsteady step toward the door, ignoring the furious look from Arthur and the confusion from everyone else, including Blue. Another memory flashed through his mind. _Kneeling on the muddy ground, the sharp taste of his own blood, he had grabbed Mercia and pulled him closer, but got a punch in the mouth for his trouble. Off-balance, Bill had landed awkwardly on the ground. The Earl had leaned down, placing his foot on Bill's injured arm. The bones crunched together._

_'I’m going to make sure no one will ever help the resistance again, Sir William,' he said quietly. 'No one will dare.'_

A moment later the memory was gone. He found himself look straight into Arthur's eyes. The King looked so like Igraine at that moment that Bill blinked in surprise. _Igraine_. The one person he had never looked for in the face of his king. The one face he didn’t need to be reminded of. This was not the time to be distracted by these memories.

'That man left a trail of death wherever he went,’ Bill said, his voice thick with emotion. ’And I'm glad I killed him.'

‘Whatever the consequences?’

Bill didn’t like where this was going but it was too far late to back down now.

‘Yes. It as _justice_.’

Justice. Honour. Truth. That was code of the Knights and the most valuable thing in the world. Mercia was a man who would have stopped at nothing to destroy all resistance to Vortigern’s domination. Every law court in the land that would have sentenced him to death.

'I think you should tell us,' said Bedivere suddenly. 'Stop carrying it around and tell us. Tell us what happened.'

There was a tiny moment when that was exactly what he was going to do, explain to his King about the day he discovered exactly how ruthless Mercia could be. But he couldn’t bear to think about it, let alone speak about it. At the very last moment, and unable to think of any other way of getting himself out of this situation, his lip curled into a sneer and he raised his fingers in the traditional two-fingered salute.

'You can just fuck off,' he said. ' _My King_.'

Speechless for once, Arthur looked at Bedivere. Before anyone else could say anything, Goosefat Bill turned and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Large and delicious thanks to those who've left comments and Kudos.
> 
> Next chapter might be a wee while - I have to go into hospital soon. During recovery I hope I'll feel a lot more like writing!
> 
> And thanks to Realmlife once more for being my Beta - I owe you even more fish than usual! :)


	3. Bait and Switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the comments and kudos. It's good to know people are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it! Thanks as well for your best wishes during my trip to hospital. I am slowly recovering and feeling much better.
> 
> Lastly, thanks once again to Realmlife for the beta-reading -x-

The slamming door sent reverberations round the hall and there was silence as the echoes faded.

'Did he just tell me to fuck off?' murmured Arthur looking to Bedivere. The other knight stared back at the King, his mouth slightly open, his expression showing that he had no idea what to say next.

Arthur looked back at the solid oak door, the shocked surprise he had felt changing to hard, cold fury. As he stood to go after Goosefat, Sir Bedivere caught his arm.

'No,' the old knight said. 'Let him be.'

'That's a stupid idea,' growled Wet Stick, but Bedivere tightened his grip on Arthur, moving himself between the King and the door.

'Do you really want to come to blows with one of your knights in the middle of the castle?' Bedivere asked. When he put it like that, it wasn't such a good idea. 'Besides, if Goosefat doesn't want to be found, he's not _going_ to be.'

That was also true. The slippery bastard knew his way round all the dark parts of the castle. He was always showing up where you least expected it. He gave Bedivere a short nod. The other man slowly released his grip and Arthur sank back down into the seat. In front of him was the Round Table, something that was supposed to bring his knights together. He laid his hands flat on the cold wood. The anger hadn't subsided, but Arthur took a couple of slow breaths, trying to uncoil the tension that was still locked inside his body. For a long time no one spoke.

'It must have been one fucking hell of a grudge,' said Wet Stick eventually.

Arthur nodded, then he remembered what Bill had said. Grudge wasn't the word he used, but _Justice_. It was justice, but justice for what? Arthur hated secrets and not knowing what was going on. Maybe, when you were King there was just too much information for one man to know, although he didn't really believe that. But trusting others to know more than he did wasn't easy for Arthur. He turned to Bedivere, who looked as confused and angry as Arthur felt.

'What was that about? Tell us _what_?'

'I don't know,' Bedivere said, with a shrug. 'I know there was something, but he would never tell me exactly what happened.'

'When? And why not?' demanded Arthur, releasing some of his fury at the older knight. 'Did he have a brother? A wife? Did the man kill his fucking dog? What? You were the leader of the resistance, why don't you know?'

'He never spoke of it.'

'You're his boss! You should know!'

'He never spoke of it.'

Arthur was going to ask again, shouting this time, but he stopped himself just in time. Berating Bedivere wasn't going to help. The knight was clearly as angry about this as Arthur himself.

'Well, what _do_ you know?' he said at last.

Bedivere sighed. He looked older, weariness on his face. The truth of what he'd said earlier struck Arthur. These men has fought a long, thankless and brutal resistance to give him the chance to reclaim his birthright and avenge his parents' murder. The anger started to slip away from the King, leaving him feeling tired and drained.

'It was a long time ago,' Bedivere said. 'At the beginning of the true slaughter. Goosefat returned to the hideout after escaping from the Blacklegs, beaten, with a broken arm, barely alive. He was later than he should have been, far too late, the chance to save the villages was gone and they had burned. For days he was delirious, and it was months before he picked up a bow again. All he would ever tell me was that Mercia caused the delay, he never said how or what happened. Since then, he could never say the name without getting that look on his face.'

Oh, yes. _That_ look. The one he'd had as he watched Mercia step off the boat and stand waiting on the pier. What was it that had so royally pissed the man off, enough to risk his own safety, and the safety of his future king and all the resistance members on the ground to take that one shot?

Arthur shook his head. Was this what being king was like? Secrets and lies? Friends at each others' throats and fights in the castle halls? No one would have dared do that to Vortigern, or even to Uther, for that matter. This was not what he wanted his kingdom to be like. Where had he gone wrong?

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Blue edging towards the door.

'Oi! You are not going anywhere!'

'That's not fair,' whined Blue, still backing away from the others. 'Goosefat's gone. Why can't I?'

'You dare tell me to fuck off as well, I'll…' snapped Arthur with a glower.

'Take it easy, Art,' Wet Stick said.

In spite of the sudden reappearance of the urge to punch something, Arthur managed to nod.

'Let's hear it then, Blue,' he said. The boy had a frightened and lost look about him now, different from the cocky little sneer he'd had earlier when arguing with Bill.

'I didn't do nothin'. I told you. It's got nothin' to do with me. It's not my fault.' He looked away to the ground.

Arthur waited. He understood Blue, shared the loss of a father, and knew well the urge for revenge. This was about what happened in Londinium, at least for Blue. Goosefat might have bigger problems, but for Blue he was always walking in the shadow of his father's death.

'Blue?'

The young boy continued to look at the floor for a few seconds, but when he looked back to Arthur there was a bright anger blazing in his eyes.

'You were all there! If that stupid old man hadn't have shot that Earl, Dad wouldn't be...'

The Blue's mouth suddenly clamped shut.

In some ways what he said was true, the logic was undeniable. But that wasn't the way it worked on the streets. There was no simple cause and effect when it came to Londinium, you learned that quickly when you lived there. Whatever had happened that afternoon, it had been a trap. Shooting Mercia had maybe even stopped more of them dying by forcing the trap to spring before the Blacklegs were properly ready. They could never know. Not that anything he said would help.

Arthur stood and laid a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. He could feel him shaking.

'I miss your dad too,' he said. 'It's easy to blame someone. If Bill hadn't fired, maybe your dad would be here.' Blue squirmed under Arthur's tight grip. 'But you don't know what would have happened.'

The boy stared at the ground again. There was a cycle of revenge, Arthur understood how it worked its poison in the mind and the heart. Blue was too young to bear this for the rest of his life, if it didn't get him killed first.

'It's easier to blame Bill,' Arthur said. 'But Vortigern and Mercia, they were the bastards in this.'

'I hate them too,' hissed Blue.

'Vortigern's dead,' said Arthur with a grim smile. 'I killed him. For myself. For my parents. And for my friends.'

He had only an instant to see Back Lack before he died. Only an instant to grab Blue and pull him out of the way. Vortigern destroyed many things he cared about, including his friends. He wasn't going to let him take Blue away as well, overcome by the curse of revenge. But what else was he going to say? Blue needed something, and Arthur had no idea how to provide it, or even what it was. Hitting someone wasn't going to work this time.

'Look, I don't expect you to be best friends,' started Arthur.

Suddenly the boy snorted.

'He can rot for all I care! I _HATE_ HIM!'

Before Arthur could respond, Blue twisted out of his grip, yanked the door open and raced off out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind him.

Arthur looked after the boy, then frowned.

'Oh, for fuck's sake,' he said. That _wasn't_ how you treated a King? Didn't _anybody_ know that?

Wet Stick made a move to follow.

'Don't,' said Arthur. 'Just… don't.'

At that moment, he didn't want to speak to either of them ever again. Bedivere was staring out of the door after Blue, his expression sorrowful and sombre. Arthur watched him for a few moments, recognising the confusion and worry. What old troubles had this confrontation with Blue dredged up? Whatever had started Bill's feud with Mercia, it had clearly troubled the older knight. He thought of Lucy, bruised and bloodied, after the Greybeard had finished with her. He had taken very great pleasure in stripping the Viking of his beard and his dignity, and if that man had done anything more to Lucy, he would have strung him up by his heels in the water of the River to drown in filth. But what had Mercia done to Sir William? He couldn't think of a good way to find out.

Bedivere turned and saw Arthur staring. He shook his head.

'If Goosefat hasn't told me, he's not going to confide in you,' Bedivere said.

'And there was nothing else?'

Bedivere shook his head once again.

The memory of what the Mage had told him last night suddenly came back to Arthur. There was always more to understand, more secrets and half-truths. Whatever had happened in the past between Bill and Mercia, it was still poisoning the present, and could consume the future as well, if he let it.

There was movement by the doorway. On edge and taken by surprise, Arthur's hand went to his sword. Then suddenly he smiled.

Maggie appeared at the doorway, slightly less poised and gracious than usual.

'My Lords,' she started, looking around the room. Though not noble, she was a valued and trusted member of the household, and had grown close to Blue since their shared incarceration in Vortigern's dungeons. 'I heard what happened between Sir William and Blue. The girls told me. And I think most of the castle knows by now.'

'Does news always travel that fast in this place?' And he'd thought the brothel was a haven for gossip! Maggie didn't have to nod, her expression said it all.

'But you are too late to mediate,' said Bedivere. 'They've _both_ gone.'

'Oh,' she murmured, crestfallen.

'I'm glad they're not here,' said Arthur with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. 'I don't know what to say to either of them.'

'Well, I have some news to help distract you,' Maggie said with a contrite smile. 'But it won't help life your spirits any. A rider arrived just a short while ago. The nobles. Some will be here by morning.'

Arthur swore under his breath. Nobles being early? That wasn't what he expected. He had expected them to stay away until the very last minute, rather than being eager to attend court. Being King meant dealing with the other nobility, a task that was never going to be straightforward for either side. Although born a prince, Arthur's unconventional upbringing caused problems for many of the high-born of the land, in spite of his recent victory over Vortigern. That in turn caused problems for Bedivere and Goosefat, who usually took on the task of mediating between the two camps.

'Who?' asked Bedivere.

'I'm not sure,' she answered. 'The Duke of Wessex and the Duke of Cornwall, at least. Some of the other Earls and Barons from the west as well. Enough to warrant your attention tomorrow when they arrive, my Lord.'

Bedivere's eyes narrowed.

'And why? What excuse did they give for such a sudden arrival?'

Maggie just shrugged.

'None,' she replied. 'Fair weather?'

Bedivere snorted and muttered something under his breath.

'I'm sorry, my Lords,' she said. 'To bring you more bad news.'

Arthur managed to smile, even though Bedivere was still frowning.

She curtsied but didn't turn away. For the next few moments, Maggie took all Arthur's attention. Framed by the door, she was wringing her hands, the image of concern. Not about the nobles. And not the motherly concern that she usually showed for Blue, but something different, more subtle, maybe more important. Bill? As far as Arthur knew, they barely spoke. But that was the only explanation.

'Maggie? Is there something else?' Arthur asked slowly. 'Is there something wrong?'

She stopped twisting her hands, and took a quick glance to Sir Bedivere.

'There's a rumour,'she said after a pause. 'The guards have been talking. About Sir William.'

He was still so distracted that Bedivere replied

'I don't listen to rumour,' he said.

'Sir William wouldn't behave like that,' she insisted. 'He wouldn't do those things behind your back. He would never try to hurt you.'

 _Why do you care?_ Arthur wanted to ask, consumed by sudden curiosity. _And_ w _hy are you so concerned about this?_

Bedivere walked over to Maggie and put his arm paternally around her shoulders, guiding her out of the door, speaking in such a low voice that Arthur couldn't make out what he said. An uncomfortable feeling grew inside him. Did he really know any of these people at all? Had he been too caught up in his own life and world and thoughts over the past months to see what else was going on in the castle? Had he spent too much time focusing on the wrong things, building his Table, day-dreaming about the Mage, rather than seeing what was going on about him.

The only other person in the room was Wet Stick, who looked out of the door for a moment before turning back to Arthur. He shrugged.

'Don't look at me,' the man said. 'I don't know what the fuck is going on either.'

Did Arthur feel better or worse for that admission?

'It's not the same as Londinium, is it?' added Wet Stick. 'I miss the old places. The River. The people. You knew where you were with the people. You knew their price. Not like here.'

'Court life is not what I expected,' Arthur said quietly.

'I thought the people would be nicer.'

'People are still people.' But if that was true, what was different now?

The King gave a loud huff. He'd had days like this back at the brothel where nothing felt right and no one had wanted to cooperate. After a long, awkward day trying to make money on the streets he, Back Lack and Wet Stick would close the doors and leave it all behind. Sometimes they would play dice, betting work or chores, or they would go out drinking, carousing and getting into stupid fights. The bruises and scars didn't matter. Blacklegs could be bought off, merchants could be bribed. No one cared what they did.

'Fancy losing some coin on dice?' asked Wet Stick. 'You have enough of it tucked away in the vaults to lose a little to me.'

Arthur gave a small laugh. It wasn't really his money though. He didn't think of it as his money, not when Vortigern had squeezed it out of the people so brutally.

Wet Stick smirked.

'Or we could prepare for meeting those nobles tomorrow,' he suggested. 'Talk about policy. Talk about Vikings. Talk about taxes. Talk about…'

'Ok, ok!' said Arthur. 'I get it!'

'We need three,' said Wet Stick. 'D'you think Bedivere plays dice?'

Arthur laughed again, with more feeling.

'No.'

'Percy?'

'Mmm… Probably. But would he play against his King?'

'I would. You are too easy to beat.'

'Thanks for your honesty.'

Wet Stick gave him a wide smile, and bowed low.

'Always. Your Majesty.'

Arthur smiled back for a moment then his smile faded.

He could smell a trap. Like his comrades from the brothel, he had lived for years by instinct, in a place where you ended up floating down the River if you got it wrong. And now, with news of the nobles' unexpected arrival, coupled with this business with Blue and Bill, his instinct was telling him that something was going on. He had to find out.

Wet Stick was the one he trusted with anything, and was the one who could go and do the things he couldn't, find out the things he couldn't.

'I need you to do something,' Arthur said.

'Not dice?'

'No. But you can still play dice if you want to.'

'You name it, Boss.'

At last, someone knew how to behave!

'Now that's the way to treat a King,' he said with a grin. 'Find out what's going on.'

'About Goosefat? The nobles?'

'About everything.'

'You think there's something else going on?' asked Wet Stick. Arthur nodded. 'I agree. I'll do what I can.'

'And find Bedivere. Tell him I want to talk about tomorrow.'

Wet Stick headed out of the door.

'And I don't do it because your my King,' he called back.

He was gone before Arthur could reply.

 

* * *

 

_There is no one else in the castle. It is completely silent, no sound came from his steps as he strolls around the empty halls and chambers. It is peaceful. It is safe._

_He comes to the throne room where Vortigern had ruled, but the room has been stripped of everything of value. On the stone floor Excalibur is lying, as if discarded or accidentally left behind. Arthur looks at it and as he does there is movement from the throne. A snake, black and silver and it slides forward and coils around Excalibur as it lies on the floor, writhing continuously. Moments later, more snakes join it. The sword is covered by little black bodies, hissing and spitting at each other. Arthur reaches out to take Excalibur, but the snakes don't let him touch it._

_One, the smallest, comes across towards him and he reaches out again, as his did once in reality, so the snake can slide up his arm. It coils round his shoulders to his neck. This time, unlike before, it doesn't strike._

' _I miss you,' it whispers to him, it's breath a warm caress. 'I am too far away. Powerful magic in Camelot. I feel the power. I cannot reach you. Take care of the people you trust. Be the King.'_

_Arthur doesn't reply, he watches the other snakes on the floor, every so often a flash of silver steel shows that the Sword is still there. The breath on his cheek goes cold, like the touch of ice._

' _Something's coming.'_

_One bigger snake slides out from a nearby shadow. It's jet black with green eyes._

_With one accord, all the snakes stop moving, their heads turn towards Arthur. They advance, slithering over the floor to his feet. Then up, over his body, cold and smooth. Excalibur is in front of him, but he can't reach it. Something sharp digs into his neck and he can feel the warm trickle of blood. The smell of death fills his head._

Arthur woke with a start, drenched in sweat once more, his heart pounding as if he'd been holding his breath to the very limit of his lungs. The sheets of his bed are wound round his arms and legs, and he had been struggling to get free.

It was warm in his chambers. The sun was peeping into the room, it was an hour or so after dawn. Below, the castle was stirring, he could hear the faint noise of men talking in the courtyard below and the familiar clatter of metal and wood.

As his breathing slowed he closed his eyes again, trying to relax and untangle himself, but the events of the day before crowded into his mind, as well as the hangover from trying to get himself to sleep. He wished now he'd taken Wet Stick up on the offer of dice. Instead, he and Bedivere had sat at the Round Table and discussed the upcoming meeting for hours into the night, even though neither of them had anything new to say. After such a monotonous evening, Arthur had helped himself to a bottle of strong mead from the stores beside the kitchen before heading up the winding stairs to his chambers. But even with the aid of the alcohol, sleep hadn't come easily. Now he was awake too early, thirsty and still tired, but too alert to go back to sleep.

He tried to focus on the day ahead, but the prospect made him feel more miserable.

Firstly, and most immediately, were the nobles. With a little questioning he'd discovered both the Duke of Wessex and the Duke of Cornwall were indeed arriving, each with their extended retinue of Earls and Barons. He hadn't met either man before, and hadn't expected them to be at this gathering. Neither had anyone else. Bedivere had been disparaging about the two, especially "young Wessex", who had only recently come into his title. He would been formally introduced to both the men this morning. Afterwards there would be some sort of council discussion about Vikings or taxation. Or both, if he was very unlucky.

The there was Blue. He and Bedivere had skirted round the subject. Arthur still felt unsure how to help the boy and found himself wondering what Back Lack would have done. Blue had always been just like his Dad, quick and clever, honest and loyal, but the stubborn streak went deeper than the River. How could he help? He had no new ideas.

And finally, there was Sir William Wilson. He didn't know how to deal with him either, other than with his fists, and the urge to punch him was only now beginning to lessen. Annoyingly, Bedivere had probably given him good advice in not going straight after Goosefat. If they had met in the halls, he would have hit him rather than spoken. When they had met in the Brothel, Arthur had tested Bill's strength and knew Goosefat was physically the weaker man. In the hideout later he had picked a weak spot, knowing he had the man's measure. Yesterday evening he would have done the same, and likely have taken it a step too far. Beating a man who was supposed to be a friend and loyal knight to a bloody pulp was not the best action for a king. Although, in his own defence, Goosefat had just told his monarch to fuck off, and that wasn't exactly knightly behaviour.

What was he going to do about Bill and Blue? And did he still trust either of them? Arthur had no answer.

With the nobles and barons already at Camelot, Arthur broke from his usual routine so he had no opportunity to check on the vaults or speak to the guards and find out the night's gossip. He wasn't even sure he would want to hear what the rest of the castle thought of the little spat between Blue and Bill. Anyway, Wet Stick would have news, and that would have to wait until later as well.

After almost an hour of resting in bed, there was a knock at his door and the squire came in, bowing respectfully. Shortly after, Arthur was dressed in his richest robes, although being helped to dress by a servant was something he felt he would struggle to get used to.

On a cushion beside the window was the crown. With a smile he placed it upon his head, then picked up Excalibur and fixed it to his belt. He looked like a king even if, this morning, he didn't feel like one. Now he was ready to face the first battle of the day: a verbal joust with the nobles of England.

Guards, servants and knights all bowed in greeting as he left his chambers and descended the stairs. He could hear the murmur of polite conversation from the gathering hall, which Vortigern had used as his throne room.

All noise stopped as he walked through the doorway of the hall, and he paused to look around at the gathering of men. Percy, closest of his knights to the door, bowed very low and all the rest of the room followed. They didn't move, and Arthur let them stay like that for a few seconds longer than usual. Then he nodded in response and they rose, continuing their discussions as if there had been no interruption.

Arthur looked around, seeing familiar faces, knights and Barons. Caradoc and Urien were at one side, speaking to Wet Stick. Ector stood by the fireplace, on his own, looking uncomfortable. Bedivere was standing close to a group of old Barons near the window. No Blue, but then the boy wasn't expected at this sort of gathering. There was no Goosefat either, at least not at first glance. But Arthur consoled himself that the man was good at being inconspicuous, and wanted to stay out of his way.

He recognised various Barons from the east and Londinium, but two men stood out as newcomers. He had no difficulty in guessing that one was Wessex and one was Cornwall.

A moment later, Bedivere came towards him. He bowed as he approached.

'Are you ready? Shall I introduce you?'

'Of course. Let's get it over with.'

The older knight gave a grim smile.

'I hope you have plate mail under your shirt.'

'And I had an extra bowl of porridge.'

'You are _going_ to need it,' Bedivere replied with a chuckle.

He lead his King forward towards the two Dukes.

'Bed-i- _vere_ ,' the elder one said, taking his time with each part of the word. Arthur saw Bedivere's eyes narrow slightly, just before he bowed to the newcomer.

'My lord, King Arthur, may I present to you Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall.'

The man gave a thin smile.

'A pleasure to meet you at last, sire.' He bowed low, with a sweep of his right arm and a flick of his hand. He was a good head shorter than Arthur, rather skinny, like a bird, but perfectly presented, very precise and well-dressed. He looked old about his face, but his hair was black without a touch of grey. He had a superior expression that Arthur imagined he used all the time.

With a flourish, Cornwall gestured to the man next to him.

'This is Cynric, the Duke of Wessex, sire.'

This man was much younger than Cornwall, maybe only a few years older than the King himself. Of equal height with his fellow Duke, he was broader, with a warmer face and a more nervous manner.

'My Lord,' he murmured awkwardly.

'Wessex, do try to be more gracious,' said Cornwall. 'It _is_ the King.'

Wessex bowed again.

'Sire,' Wessex said. Arthur was sure that Cornwall rolled his eyes.

Introductions completed, Bedivere suddenly noticed something else, of vital importance, over the other side of the room and made his excuses, leaving the King to face the two Dukes alone. Arthur couldn't blame him for escaping. After his departure, the three men stood in silence for a few moments.

'So what brings you to Camelot then, Cornwall?' Arthur asked.

'It was not my intention to be in attendance, that is true,' the Duke said. 'My Baron are more than capable. But Wessex here and myself were close, and there was a suggestion to call, pay our respects to our new monarch and celebrate your victory. The council was a bonus.'

 _What a load of shite_ , thought Arthur. And that still didn't explain why they did show up. Standing beside these Dukes, he had a familiar resigned feeling, one he'd often had in the brothel, with punters he knew were going to be trouble.

'You're well attended for an impromptu visit to the King,' observed Arthur.

'One's retinue should never be far away. Don't you agree, Wessex?' Wessex nodded. 'A reliable retinue. One of the backbones of a secure throne.'

The Duke smirked. Why did Arthur have the feeling he was missing something?

'Take Vortigern,' continued Cornwall. 'Too careless with his people, and his power. I despised him.'

From the venom in the man's voice, Arthur wanted to believe him, although it could also have been feared, instead of despised. Or envied, maybe?

'But you. You are quite different. And _so_ like your mother.'

Arthur could tell a backhanded compliment when he heard one, but the change in topic surprised him. He felt the conversation slowly slipping out of his grasp. He didn't want to get drawn into this topic, but he found he couldn't help himself.

'You knew her?'

'We all knew Lady Igraine of Ergyng, the most sought-after princess in the land. Not only was she very beautiful, rich and charming, she was strong, and kind, and very clever. Many men wished to marry her.'

'Oh?'

'But of course a King beats a Duke with this sort of thing,' said Cornwall with a casual shrug. 'Even a King like Uther Pendragon. And certainly beats a mere knight.'

Arthur could hear the malicious mockery in the other man's voice, but he'd had plenty of practice in the brothel learning how to treat people who thought they were better than you were. Arthur smiled back, as warmly as he could, his eyes never leaving the Duke. He didn't say a word, just watched the other man, looking straight into his green eyes. Cornwall looked away first, but Arthur still didn't speak, just waited as the silence grew painful.

'At least your knights are here to greet us,' Cornwall said. 'Most of them, anyway. No Sir William, I see. Off skulking around somewhere again, I presume.'

The Duke laughed at what Arthur imagined was a witty joke, and the man continued to do so, even when nearby men turned to stare. No one else joined in.

'I should let you go and track him down,' Cornwall said, still smirking. 'Come, Wessex!'

The two men walked off, with Wessex mumbling something polite as he was swept away by Cornwall. Arthur looked after them in anger, knowing full well the implied insult, and not quite able to believe that Cornwall had been so brazen about it. Somehow in the exchange he had lost the battle without realising.

The parting shot stung deeply. Angry and more than a little humiliated by Cornwall's actions, Arthur looked around the room once again. As the Duke had said, there was no Goosefat Bill anywhere to be seen.

The anger grew more insistent. He would have expected better from the man. Bill might have behaved like a shit last night, but the decent thing, the knightly thing, to do was come and apologise and get his wrists slapped, then to get on with being a knight and _not_ letting his absence be a point-scoring exercise for snobbish Dukes.

He signalled to Wet Stick, who weaved his way through the gathering to Arthur's side.

'Boss, I think we have a serious problem,' Wet Stick started.

'I know,' Arthur. 'Goosefat. Where the fuck is he?'

For a moment Wet Stick looked confused.

'I've not seen him. But we still…'

'Didn't we do this yesterday as well?' growled Arthur, careful not to let his voice rise above the general babble. 'He should be here.'

'Yes, but…'

'Go and get him. Drag him out of bed if you have to, but get him downstairs to be nice to the nobles.' Wet Stick hesitated. 'Now!'

Wet Stick moved off, disappearing out of the main door. The next few minutes dragged on as Arthur circled round the room, continually being greeted by various Earls, Barons and knights. They all talked to him, inquired of his health and generally made polite conversation. The moment Wet Stick returned, he made his excuses and joined him by the doorway.

'Room's empty, looks like he's not been there all night.'

'What?'

'And no one I spoke to has seen him since the evening, since that fight with Blue. People are starting to talk.'

'Talk?'

'Not in a good way, either. About Goosefat. About you.'

' _What_? What is going on?'

Arthur tried to get the attention of Sir Bedivere, but the other man was too engrossed in a conversation with Sir Ector to notice. Finally, Arthur abandoned the subtle approach and went over to join them.

'Excuse us, I need a word with my friend here,' said Arthur with a thin smile. He pulled Sir Bedivere to one corner, as far for the two Dukes as he could get, with Wet Stick following.

'What the fuck is he playing at, Bedivere?' Arthur hissed.

'Who?'

'Goosefat.'

Bedivere looked around the room, as if noticing for the first time that Bill wasn't there. Arthur frowned. A sudden, very unpleasant thought struck him. He looked to Wet Stick.

'Where's Blue?'

'Thought of that already,' said Wet Stick. 'He's helping in the kitchens. He's not seen him either. He promised me.'

'You believe him?'

'This time, yeah.'

'Goosefat's not here?' Bedivere sounded confused. 'I don't understand.'

'We didn't exactly part on good terms.'

'Regardless, he is still a knight. He knows his role in the council.'

'Maybe he's too ashamed to face me,' grunted Arthur, strangely hurt by the thought. 'Maybe he's gone off to sulk.'

'No,' replied Bedivere, with a firmness that surprised the King. 'No. Whatever you may think of him, and whatever has happened between you, he would never turn his back on his duty. He should be here.'

'But no one has seen him,' repeated Wet Stick. 'It's like he's just vanished. Now people are saying he tried to kill you and he's on the run.' Arthur turned to stare at Wet Stick. 'That's what our problem is. The rumour is all over the castle.'

Arthur continued to stare, open-mouthed. To one side there was movement from the doorway at the other end of the hall and the herald appeared. Bedivere took Arthur's arm.

'It's time for the council,' said Bedivere. 'You must go.'

The last thing the King wanted to do at the moment was have to sit through a meeting. He felt as if he had missed something, an opportunity that would never come again. Perhaps, last night, instead of getting distracted by the sudden arrival of courtiers, he should have confronted Goosefat while he had the chance.

'Please, Arthur,' continued Bedivere. 'Let us find out where he is. Let us find out what's going on. You are the King and you have other duties.'

He did want to do anything of the sort, but he knew his responsibilities. Arthur took a slow breath and glanced round the room. The nobles were ignoring him, caught up in their conversations. All except Gorlois of Cornwall, who saw Arthur's gaze and gave a charming smile. It sent a chill down Arthur's back. He didn't smile back.

* * *

 

To begin with, there was only the vaguest of sensations. It was quiet and warm, but Bill was uncomfortable. He hurt, his arms ached, his head ached, his stomach ached. As he came to more fully, he realised he was bound, gagged and then left on the floor as if he had been an old bundle of clothes.

It hurt to think. Panic wasn't far away, and to avoid its grip Bill tried to think back to what he could last remember, but it was all jumbled up.

 _Blue_. He had been angry with the boy. He was going to give him a clip round the ear. Arthur had appeared. They had exchanged angry words, he had felt sick, and afraid of what he might tell them. A price on his head. Edward's doing? Suddenly his predicament and the discomfort made more sense.

But how had he got here? Wasn't he smarter than that?

Above the growing panic, another memory returned. He'd been thinking about the day he'd nearly died, the day of his worst failure, the day when that poor family was slaughtered. He forced the memory back down into the dark where it belonged.

Instead he tried to remember more about the previous night. The King had been there, and they had spoken but they didn't just argue. He had deliberately sworn at the King before storming off in a stupid huff, rather than trusting his friends. It had been the ale talking, and his own pride. What in God's name was he thinking, telling Arthur to fuck off? The man was his King!

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he had seen the raw fury on the King's face. It was fortunate Arthur was so surprised at his outburst. Had there not been a delay, Bill would have had an impossible fight on his hands.

He remembered rushing through the hallways towards the courtyard, brushing past anyone who had tried to stop him, not speaking, not slowing down. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen Maggie hurrying along the hall, and had ducked into a shadow to avoid her, unwilling to face her anger or tender concern.

He had been relived to be outside, away from the other knights. The sun had set, but there was still light enough in the sky. It had been warm evening, in spite of the clouds there was no rain. A sick sensation had made him feel dizzy. It wasn't the same as the feeling of too much ale. He didn't remember much in the way of food, except what little he'd had last night before falling into bed. He had leaned against the stable wall, looking over to the river. His memory faltered. Had there been guards? Had someone else had been there? The details remained infuriatingly out of reach. The harder he tried to remember, the less detail he could prise out of his memory.

Bill tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt too much, and the gag got in his way. One thing was obvious. Whatever had happened next, he'd fallen foul of Edward's men.

He winced, but not in pain. A stupid mistake. He should have admitted he was unable to deal with it, and that he was vulnerable. He would have, with Uther. Did he fear the mockery of Arthur? Or that the new King wouldn't help? Or did he think that the new mantra of "why have enemies when you could have friends" would be applied to Edward and he would have to live the rest of his life looking over his shoulder? Or was he just too proud of his reputation to ask for help?

It didn't matter at the moment. Edward had him, dumped like a sack of potatoes in a shed. The ropes round his wrist were that bit tighter than usual, plus the time he'd been unconscious had made his hands and lower arms go numb. He couldn't use a knife or lock-pick if he couldn't feel his hands. But that didn't matter much. He had no tools. There had been no need to carry the tools of his trade with him in Camelot. Camelot was supposed to be safe.

The rough, woollen gag in his mouth made it difficult to breathe, especially since his nose was mostly blocked. He could smell blood, the logical explanation was that someone had kicked him in the face while he was unconscious. He still felt sick, but the ache in his arms and shoulders was more noticeable.

 _Fuck_.

Such was his skilled in the art of lock-picking, and always with a back-up plan and a suite of clever tricks, Bill was never usually in trouble for long. He had liked the nickname of Goosefat, it made him sound soft and a bit stupid. A good way to put your enemies off guard was to look soft and stupid. Though there were times he had been as harsh, brutal and as ruthless as the Blackleg guardsmen. It was the only way to survive. Life on the streets is hard, but working as a spy in the enemy's castles or living your life on the run and hiding in the forests isn't such a merry time either, especially when you risked a hanging, or worse, if you were caught. He always planned as thoroughly as he could. He knew his mark, he knew the layouts and the escape routes.

But this time, lying bound and immobile on the wooden floor, Bill knew he was in very serious trouble.


	4. The Price of Innocent Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so long in arriving. Thanks for all the feedback and comments on the fic so far, I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

  
  
Hours had passed. Lying in the dark, Goosefat Bill waited, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could. He was alive for a reason, that much was clear, but he had little information to go on. It could be that Edward wanted to make him suffer, or it could be something else, there was a nagging fear in the back of Bill’s mind that he didn’t want to acknowledge. So, instead of trying to second guess his fate, his thoughts flitted from worry to worry, error to error, then inevitably back to Arthur and their argument. What was the point in going over it? he asked himself, forcing his thoughts to other things, and the cycle started all over again.

  
It was difficult to keep track of time but finally there was the faint scuff of a door opening close by, then the sound of footsteps.

He tensed, ready to take advantage of this change. There would be few opportunities to get out of this, and he needed to be ready to take whatever chances he could. The glare of the torches made him wince, his eyes not used to the light after so long in the dark, but he could still make out five men, well-armed and armoured. Rather than escaping he was more likely to get himself beaten into submission. That wouldn’t do him any good. He had to wait, and hope for a more promising opportunity later. They had kept him alive so far, and he’d always found that patience was better than suicide.

He was helped to stand and carefully led out of the cellar, past the lines of ale casks and up a narrow hallway, always flanked by two of the guards, always aware of the sharp swords by their sides and knives in their hands. He didn’t recognise where he was, but he was familiar enough with the back of a tavern to recognised the smell. Confused, Bill let himself be guided onward, still looking around for information on where he was. Why had Edward brought him here? He was the type of man to want to gloat, but here? That was unexpected and at odds with what he knew of Edward of Mercia. Why would the man drag him to a tavern? Why not somewhere more discrete? The unpleasant thought whispered at the edge of his mind: Maybe there was more to this than revenge?

They stopped at an open doorway and Bill was pushed through. The room beyond was wider, with a table set for two. He was shoved toward the further end, and made to sit down. The guards stood behind him, out of his direct line of sight, but still very much present. He wasn’t sure his situation had improved from when he was lying on the floor. Bruised, numb and exhausted, escaping these men would be next to impossible. He didn’t have a mystical sword that let him defy the natural law, he couldn’t turn himself into a magic whirlwind of death and still be barely out of breath. But then, he wasn’t king either.

He tried to shift his focus from escape. That wasn’t an option at the moment, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t gain some advantage. He was sitting here for a reason. It was certain that this state wasn’t going to last, but while it did he would play along and get information out of Edward. After that, he would worry about staying alive long enough to use any of it.

Knowing being patient and compliant would be an unsettling strategy, he forced himself to relax, looking around the room, noting the number and size of his guards and the positions of the windows. After ten minutes of creating and discarding future escape plans, heavy footsteps from the hall stopped at the door and it opened to reveal the man Bill had been expecting: Edward of Mercia.

Edward closely resembled his elder brother, the face and hair were similar. But Edward was shorter, fatter and rounder; less patient, less clever. _Less dead_ , thought Bill bitterly.

'Sir William Wilson,’ Edward said with a sneering laugh as he plopped himself down onto the seat opposite Bill. ‘All trussed up like a goose, ready for roasting. How fitting.'

Mercia smirked for a few seconds then nodded to one of the thugs at the back and one of them removed the gag and ropes. Bill carefully rubbed his wrists and hands as the feeling slowly and painfully returned.

He took a deep breath. His situation still had not improved. Unbound, he was in less pain and able to move, but there were still vanishingly few options for escape. Edward watched him, waiting for a clever riposte, which is exactly what Bill wanted to do. But being predictable wasn’t going to help his cause, so again Bill forced himself to relax in his chair, determined not to speak just yet.

The silence stretched on for a few moments, each glaring at the other, then Edward finally looked away. Bill stifled a smile. The first round went to him.

‘So Mercia, to what do I owe this… pleasure?’ he asked.

Edward snorted.

‘As polite as always, Sir William,’ Edward replied. ‘Aren’t you enjoying yourself?’

‘No,’ replied Bill.

‘Then your day is not going to get any better,’ Edward said with a snarl.

Another silence. Though Bill was filled with questions, he knew that not asking them would make Edward more annoyed, and less guarded about the answers. At least, that was what he hoped would happen.

‘I expect you want to know where you are, and what happened,’ Edward said eventually.

Yes he did. Yes he really, really did, as much as Edward clearly wanted to brag about it. But there was nothing to be gained from admitting that to his captor. Instead, Goosefat shrugged.

‘You walked into this, oblivious,’ said Edward with a sly laugh. He leaned forward. ‘I never thought it would be so easy to catch you off guard, Sir William. Good God man, all they had to do was follow you for a few hours and you gave yourself into their hands. I was genuinely disappointed when they told me what happened.’

The laughter was particularly humiliating, because Edward was correct. So much for his reputation for being difficult to catch and keep. He had been stupid, forgetting the first rule of spying, and relaxed his guard. He would be embarrassed, if he wasn’t in so much trouble. He fought against the sudden panic, and the rising, suffocating feeling that he was out of his depth. Perhaps the time had come again to pray for a quick death rather than a way to escape. He steeled himself. Not yet. There was information to be gathered first. After that, he would find a way to survive.

‘But before we talk about why you’re here, there are other things to attend to first,’ Edward said. He waved at one of the men. ‘Bring us food.’

Bill was surprised, and wary, but also he recognised his own hunger. Soon a bowl was placed in front of him. A thin soup, he couldn’t smell it properly but it appeared to be a broth. A small fist full of bread was placed beside it. At the other end of the table, Edward had a large roast bird (probably a goose, but Bill couldn’t be sure), a half of bread, some cheese, and the servant poured a generous goblet of beer.

Bill looked back to his bowl. He wasn’t too proud to have something, with the thought that at least he wouldn’t be starved. Not yet anyway. Edward started to eat straight away, even before the beer was poured. For a few moments Bill watched the other man eat.

‘I know you must be hungry,’ Edward mumbled, his mouth full of bread. ‘You were quite green when they found you but, if I may say, you look whiter now.’

Bill only had the sketchiest memory of what happened. Certainly he had been feeling bad enough to be sick. Had someone made him feel like that deliberately? That would certainly explain why he had been feeling so bad. But whatever it had been, it hadn’t killed him. That was at least one plus to the situation. In a sense.

‘Someone does not like you, Sir William,’ Edward continued, still eating. ‘Someone else, I mean. Someone in the castle.’

No prizes for guessing who that might be. Blue. But why? Was it nothing more than the boy getting one up on him? Bill hoped that was the case, and that Blue wasn’t more involved.

He looked back down at the food, suddenly realising how hungry he felt. Munching, chomping and gulping noises were coming from the other end of the table. Food would help him think more clearly so Bill took a few spoonfuls of the broth and a small chunk of the bread. He had wanted to appear aloof and in control, but he found once he’d started he couldn’t stop. He finished his food in a minute.

Edward was smirking again.

‘Enjoy that, did you?’ he asked.

‘It could use a little salt,’ Bill said.

‘But you still managed to force it down?’ Mercia replied with a laugh. Bill had no reply and Edward continued to chuckle as he finished his own food, more slowly. At last, Edward pushed the plate away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The goblet was filled again and he took a long swig.

Goosefat continued to keep quiet, reminding himself not to make things easy for Mercia.

‘Do you really have nothing to say to me, Sir William?’

Bill thought about the question for a moment, then pretended to think some more.

‘No.’

‘I am surprised at your attitude,’ said Edward.

Bill caught the word good before it could leave his mouth. He was grateful then not to have had any beer. Keeping his focus would have been a lot more difficult after a drink.

‘It seems I will have to make it plain. You murdered my brother, Sir William. You are here so I can get my revenge.’

Bill rolled his eyes.

‘You say that as if it’s supposed to be a revelation.’ No reaction. ‘At least I made it quick, and didn’t try to talk him to death.’

A snarl crossed Mercia’s face.

'Well, maybe I should just kill you now and get it finished.' Edward paused and shook his head. 'But I have been persuaded to let that fleeting pleasure pass, for the greater good.'

Bill’s interest was piqued at the turn of phrase, and the feeling of being out of his depth grew more pronounced. But then again, Edward was eager to show off. That was one of the things he had always disliked about the other man. He never knew when to shut up.

'Greater good? Greater than vengeance for your own brother?'

Edward gave a twisted smile, and for a moment Bill thought about how Mercia would look if he had just been punched in the face. Idle fantasy, but it helped him smile back, encouraging the other man to speak.

'Arthur maybe be King in this little shire of England, but there are other parts where his will does not hold sway. Not all of the nobles in England have such a great admiration of the Pendragon bloodline.'

So this was about Arthur. Wasn’t everything? He was just bait in a trap; that was the only option, and a glaringly obvious one as well. Of course Bill had known it in his heart, but he’d hoped he was wrong. But there was nothing to be gained by admitting any of this to Mercia.

‘What do you mean?’

Edward shook his head and laughed again, bolder this time.

‘You are clever enough to think it through,’ said Edward. ‘At least I hope you are.’

‘This is about Arthur?’

Edward nodded.

'You think he’ll come looking,' Bill said slowly. 'Is that what you want?'

'That's not what I want,' Edward said, apparently relieved that Bill had finally figured it out. 'But that is the general idea, yes.'

'Clever,' Bill admitted, nodding. 'Arthur away from Camelot, distracted. More vulnerable away from his stronghold. I assume that there is someone in Camelot already?'

'Exactly. All we needed was the right worm on the hook. Cornwall had wanted to use the Mage, but she's difficult to track down, dangerous too. Nasty habit of using animals to do her will. So I suggested you should have the privilege. Fortunately for you, he agreed.'

'Cornwall...' Bill murmured. So the Duke of Cornwall was behind this. That wasn't as much of a surprise as it should have been. After all, the price for his life was almost an unbelievable amount, and there was no way Edward could have enough coin. That meant there was something more to the bounty than just revenge. That was clear now with hindsight. He should have been honest with Arthur, no matter what else had been going on. It was idiotic to think he could deal with something like that on his own. What had he been thinking?

'And there’s not much love lost between those two houses, is there?' said Edward. The mockery in his voice and the smug smirk was more that Bill could stand.

'Igraine chose the better man,' he hissed, responding to the taunt in spite of himself. 'And she loved him as he loved her. She saw Gorlois for the snake he is.'

Edwards smile grew wider, knowing he’d hit the centre of his mark with that comment.

'Now with both Uther and Vortigern dead, if Arthur were to die, Cornwall would have a persuasive claim on the crown, and there would be no one to organise the opposition. Opportunities, Sir William. That is what chaos always brings. Opportunities. Even if you have to give up vengeance to take them.'

‘And your man on the inside is there, waiting to help things along.’

‘You met them, I believe. You don’t remember what happened?’

Bill pursed his lips and Edward laughed again. He remembered certain cross words with his king, and being outside. Then everything had gone grey around the edges. Maybe there had been a voice he should have recognised, but there was no clear memory. He wanted to lash out, to shout out the spiteful words that were forming in his mind, but he swallowed them, not wanting Edward to stop talking. At the moment, every time the other man opened his mouth he gave away information. Who would betray the King? He had to find out, somehow.

‘You’re right,’ he murmured at last. ‘I don’t remember.’

That admission brought more laughter.

‘You were the most slippery one of the whole lot,’ said Edward leaning back, sloshing the beer in the goblet as he waved it towards Bill. ‘If my brother knew how easily I’d caught you, he’d have been ashamed. And after you caused him so much trouble.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, the times he would rant about you. I suggested he just killed you straight out, but he never would.’ Edward gave a wolfish, nasty grin. ‘He knew you could be just as valuable to him, if he could wring the truth out of you.’

Bill didn’t reply. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know why he kept on being hounded by the Blacklegs.

‘But this time we don’t need information.’ Edward lent forward again. ‘We need you. Arthur will follow you.’

For a moment, Bill wondered if he’d annoyed his King far too much to warrant a search, but he knew Arthur. The man was protective of his own, Bill had heard how he’d humiliated the Greybeard Viking over Lucy. Besides, after the way Bill had acted and what he’d said, if anyone was going to give him a proper dressing down, Arthur would want to do it himself.

'The King is an honourable man,’ said Edward, ‘one who is loyal to his knights. I can be sure he will come out of the Castle after you. And when he finds me, I will be able to say honestly that I never laid a hand on you. My friends, however, aren't in the same position.' He gestured towards the men by the wall. 'They're from the North, and they hate me as much as they hate you. Maybe even more. But I have something that they want.'

He waved his hand and another servant appeared. Edward muttered something and the man went out of the room, only to come back a few moments later with a large heavy bag. He hefted it onto the table between the dirty plates. Gold coins tumbled out over the tabletop, glinting in the candlelight. The men behind Bill shuffled forward, he could hear them move, to get a better look.

'That's not even all there is,’ whispered Edward, staring at the coins.

What did men see when they looked at a fortune? A way to get whatever they could, food, women, power. But that wasn’t what Bill saw.  
As a knight under Uther’s rule, he was entitled to lands and income, while he was still young enough to have a sense of hope and be filled with aspirations for the future. That William Wilson had been gone for a very long time. The land and the money had been forfeit to the crown after Uther’s death. Since Arthur had returned, Bill saw no need to take them back. They were in good hands, and he had no family to help spend whatever coin it generated. He had enough to keep himself in new arrows and good bowstrings, as well as smart clothes so he didn’t look too scruffy at court. He saw money as just a tool, the same as everything else. Money could buy him freedom from prison, a weapon, or a favour. But it couldn’t buy him what his heart had most wanted. As soon as he’d learnt that truth, the seductive gleam of gold had lost its shine.

Bill looked at the glittering gold on the table. Cornwall was pouring the whole contents of his coffers into this. Who would betray a king? The answer was clearer now. Someone who could be bought. Someone who loved money, not position or honours. So it could be any of the new knights, they knew very little about them. The old guard of the Resistance, and Arthur’s friends from Londinium wouldn’t betray him just for gold.

Pretending to be stupid had worked so far, and Bill forced himself to frown.

‘None of the King’s knights would…’

‘They already have, remember!’ said Edward gleefully. ‘You are here as proof of that!’

‘But…’

‘Everyone has a price.’

‘Not even Cornwall could afford to pay that to everyone in England,’ replied Bill, gesturing at the gold on the table.

‘He doesn’t need to have it now,’ said Edward, sounding very condescending. ‘Eventually Cornwall will have so much that this will mean nothing to him.’

Suddenly Bill saw the plan: The gold at Camelot. That was to be used to pay everyone off. Almost all the gold in England lay sleeping under that castle, Vortigern had hoarded enough to pay for his Mage Tower five times over, and still have more left.

‘The treasury…’

‘Finally getting a glimmer of understanding, Sir William?’

Bill didn’t reply for a minute. He had to keep the upper hand for as long as he could. Edward had been foolish enough to give away bits of information, but there was always more to find out. He just had to keep him talking, and keep pretending to be stupid and hope to live long enough to use it later. But he could sense time was running out.

‘I don’t understand,’ murmured Bill. ‘Why do you need me if you have all that gold? Why not just pay your man to kill him?’

Edward snorted in disgust.

‘In the castle, surrounded by his guards? With no escape? What is the point in taking the gold if you are not alive to spend it?’

‘And that’s why I’m here, I suppose?’

‘It’s very simple,’ Edward said. ‘Arthur will follow me, as he thinks it will lead him to you.’

‘But it won’t?’

‘Oh no, Sir William. We are going to leave a trail for the King, all the way to somewhere familiar, safe and isolated. He won’t think he’s in danger, he’ll just follow my trail all the way home. But you’ll go somewhere else.’

Bill bit back on his immediate reaction. Arthur wasn’t so blind or stupid. The nobility of England seemed to think that just because a man was brought up on the streets or in a brothel he was thick. The King had a very a different set of skills and could smell a rat at twenty yards, probably a lot more. In this case, Bill was sure he would suspect a trap instantly. The real question was whether or not he would think it worth the risk.

‘How can you be sure he’ll do what you want?’

‘We’ve made sure.’

Bill just looked back at him, his eyebrows raised, looking as sceptical as he could manage under the circumstances.

‘We are capable of thinking ahead,’ snapped Edward. ‘This has been carefully planned.’

_Then you should have planned to keep your mouth shut_ , thought Bill. Another, less pleasant, thought occurred to him. This would only work if Arthur thought Bill was still alive, or alive enough to help. It wasn’t enough to be bait, he had to be live bait as well… Edward may have been mildly incompetent, but the Northmen weren’t. He was running out of options, and he didn’t like what this was leading to.

‘Planned by Cornwall, I suppose?’ asked Bill. ‘Sitting in safety until the danger has passed? Until you’ve taken all the risks? How fortunate.’

The was a distinct pause before Edward spoke.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I never trusted Cornwall,’ said Bill. ‘Why would you?’

‘There is such a thing as honour,’ Edward replied with a splutter, his face beginning to go red. ‘Though I understand it might be a confusing concept for you to grasp.’

‘It’s a difficult concept for Cornwall.’

Although Bill was only trying to confuse his opponent, something inside his mind was insisting that it wasn’t just a ploy, but a genuine warning. This charade made no sense if Edward was still alive at the end of it. Cornwall wasn’t about to let the man who’d done all the dirty work live to tell the tale once he was king. Frustratingly, Mercia didn’t appear to see the danger. Was he really so blinded by his own greed not to see his weak position?

‘I hope you have more than just greed in common!’

Another snarl appeared on Edwards face.

‘After what you did to my family, Cornwall didn’t need to buy my loyalty. The money is for you!’

‘Me?’

‘I was paid for your life,’ Edward growled.

‘Life?’

‘Paid not to kill you straight out.’

A cold shiver rushed through Bill. Upsetting their plans meant something else now: getting himself killed. Bill didn’t like that idea, but he believed he was more useful to Edward and Cornwall alive than dead. It took him a few moments to build up the courage to speak again.

‘That’s shameful!’ Bill spat.

There was a momentary silence.

‘ _What_ did you say?’ whispered Edward, the chill in his tone more frightening than if he’d shouted the words.

‘I never thought of you as so weak,’ said Bill, genuine venom in his tone covering the fear. ‘Money? Not revenge for your brother? It’s insulting. I’m insulted for him, having you for a brother, and I despised him!’

Edward moved towards Bill, the chair toppling backwards with a crash, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand and the raw, barely controlled fury made him shake. Bill had just a moment of terror and regret as the knife came rushing down. But instead of delivering the killing blow, Edward stopped himself with the knife tip barely above Bills throat. He stood, breathing heavily.

As the men stared at each other, Bill saw that Edward had finally realised he’d been played for a fool. Slowly, the other man moved backwards towards the chair, the knife vanishing back to its scabbard on his belt. He picked up the chair in silence and seated himself back down. No one spoke for a time.

‘Too clever,’ Edward hissed. ‘You are far too clever. No wonder my brother hated you.’ Edward stared at him with such intent that Bill fought to stop himself pulling back. ‘I want you to know your part. Do you understand? I’m not going to kill you. I’m not even going to torture you, except with my words. And the knowledge of what you’ve done to your king.’

Edward closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pursed. When he spoke again his voice was a calm.

‘Your King is betrayed. You are the one who set him on this path, Sir William. When he comes to find you, he will die. You’ve destroyed Igraine’s only child, with your selfishness and your stupidity. Another family lies dead, with their blood soaked into your hands.’  
They looked at each other, and Bill knew exactly what Edward was speaking about. That familiar guilt reared up. Bill had never spoken of it, but he’d been stupid to think that Mercia would have done the same. He felt his cheeks redden as Edward stared at him, the mirthless smile as cold as an empty home.

‘I remember my brother telling me about it,’ he said. ‘Once again, lives destroyed by your stupid, self-serving decisions.’

The blood ran like ice through Bill’s heart. Although he knew it was said just to goad him, the pain and guilt resurfaced just as ferociously as it had the day before. The innocent people he’d sacrificed because he was too careless. He shuddered, unable to stop his response, even though he knew it was exactly what Edward wanted.

‘Everyone has a price, Sir William,’ Mercia said quietly. ‘And I know yours. Innocent lives. Maybe in time of war and rebellion you could justify it. But now?’ With a heavy heart, Bill knew what Edward was going to say next. ‘If you try to escape, if you even breathe the wrong way, I will butcher every woman and child I meet from here to Tintagel. More innocent blood on your hands, Sir William. How much more can your conscience carry?’

Bill wanted to be sick. He was trapped this time; properly trapped, by his own honour as much as his stupidity for getting himself into this in the first place. He was unsure if Edward was ruthless and vicious enough to carry out the threat. But he didn’t have to be, the Northmen would, the Northmen would probably enjoy it too. He willed himself to answer back, but he couldn’t find the right words. He was betraying Arthur, leading the King into a trap. But all he could do was trust that Arthur would be able to protect himself. Bedivere, Wet Stick and Percy were all loyal. They would look after the King. They would all die for him. So would I, thought Bill. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been close to death in the long fight against Vortigern. What was one more?

_Stay alive, Sir William, a voice murmured in his head. The longer you’re alive the more chance you’ll have to help. You can’t help him if you’re dead. Stay alive, Sir William. Just stay alive._

‘I see we understand each other,’ said Edward. ‘Good. You will die slowly, and have plenty of time to think on your mistakes, and how much it has cost others. It is the closest thing to killing you outright that I could think of.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And I know it will hurt.’

‘What if… Arthur… finds me before…?’ Bill managed to ask, his voice slurred.

Edward considered the question, a look of mock confusion on his face.

'No one is going to find you alive, Sir William. I doubt anyone will even find your bones. You may not die for days. And I have the satisfaction of knowing that even with your prodigious and slippery skills, you won't be able to get out.'  



End file.
